


Gambling Man

by JennaCupcakes



Series: The Great Game [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Casino AU, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, enjolras and his friends rob banks, god don't look at me, that's not relevant to the plot though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaCupcakes/pseuds/JennaCupcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac drags Enjolras to a casino. He certainly doesn't regret going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gambling Man

**Author's Note:**

> Actually you should probably turn around and run while you still can. It's my first attempt at proper porn so be gentle? No actually just turn around and run there's nothing to see here.
> 
> Title taken from 'Gambling Man' by The Overtones.

The problem with casinos for Enjolras isn’t, as his friends believe, the fact that unimaginably rich people spend vast amounts of money they don’t deserve in those establishments, but the fact that there are _people_ in general.

People who don’t like to listen to an impromptu speech about the dangers of liberalism because liberalism is what’s made them rich and anyway, this is supposed to be _fun_ , right? It doesn’t feel like fun to Enjolras.

Courfeyrac has had two whiskeys and one scotch by the time they reach the first tables, and Enjolras doesn’t know where he got them from because he certainly hasn’t bought them, he just smiles at strangers and twirls his hair between his fingers and bats his eyelashes and suddenly old ladies and those blonde girls hanging on the arms of stinking rich billionaires shove their drinks at him, slipping a phone number into his waiting hand, too, and there even was one guy in a grey suit who looked like a younger version of Brad Pitt who’d leaned into Courfeyrac’s personal space and whispered something Enjolras wishes he hadn’t heard.

It’s all very crowded and distracting.

The problem is that Courfeyrac is very smart. And because he’s very smart he’s made Enjolras agree to come here before he dragged him, so Enjolras really can’t get out of this on. He’d said it would be fun, and that if nothing else, Enjolras could learn how to play poker, and he can’t remember why Courfeyrac was able to make him think this was a necessary skill for him. The thing about Courfeyrac is that he is _convincing_.

So yeah, Enjolras is stuck in a casino for the night, without Combeferre at his side, because Combeferre stayed in their apartment studying blueprints of banks and whatnot, and Enjolras angrily thinks that his excuses were probably really flimsy but Courfeyrac let it slide because he wanted _Enjolras_. He likes to make Enjolras suffer, that must be it.

“Do you want to try your hand at Roulette?”

Courfeyrac produces a chip out of nowhere and twirls it between his fingers, grinning as he meets Enjolras’ disapproving glance. “I promise I won’t spend too much of your illegally made money.” He smirks. “Actually, Combeferre threatened me before we went here. I had to swear by my diamond knife that I wouldn’t financially ruin us.”

Enjolras frowns. “That was Joly’s knife last time I checked.”

Courfeyrac takes his arm and drags him towards a Black Jack table. “He lost it during poker.”

“You can’t even use that knife,” Enjolras argues, even though Courfeyrac is already occupied otherwise – namely with trying to decide whether to start the night with Poker or Black Jack. His eyes dart between the people playing Black Jack and the poker tables that are further off, obviously calculating where he’s going to have the better time, and also a better chance of nicking a Rolex or two. Enjolras sighs and crosses his arms, resisting the urge to straighten his tie because it’s _fine_ and he’s just uncomfortable. He lets his gaze wander around, tapping out a nervous rhythm against the soft carpet on the floor.

When he turns back, Courfeyrac has disappeared.

Of course. Enjolras rolls his eyes. Courfeyrac is not at the Black Jack table, so he’s probably decided on poker. There are some poker tables even farther into the room, and Enjolras makes his way over to those while trying to avoid people as good as possible.

He’s moderately successful, and Courfeyrac is not amongst the poker players.

He turns again, scowling, and suddenly there’s a voice next to his ear, deep and smoky and barely above a whisper but with a teasing edge to it, humming out a quiet melody.

“ _I got some bad addiction, baby it’s you, yeah that’s right. And I can feel you taking over me, could luck be a lady in here tonight_?”

The last note is drawn out and Enjolras turns around being more irritated than usual because people don’t turn up singing behind him before they introduce themselves, not generally. The man he finds himself faced with is about his height, in the green waistcoat that all of the casino employees wear, and has black curls that he’s tried to tame with a ribbon at the back of his head. Enjolras does not notice that he’s only been moderately successful because there’s one strand of black that’s fought its way out now framing his face in a way that looks unassuming but absolutely stunning. He does _not_ notice that.

The guy’s cheeks go bright red at the sight of Enjolras. “Oh shit, you’re… I’m sorry, I…”

He laughs and buries his face in his hands, and then peeks out between his fingers and Enjolras should not find that endearing, he should find Courfeyrac, but said very much not good friend seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.

“I thought you were a girl,” the guy confesses, and Enjolras frown deepens.

“In a suit?” he says, “You though I was a girl in a suit?”

“We get guys in dresses, so why not a girl in a suit?” His eyes wander to Enjolras hair, though, which is tied back as well, and yeah, maybe he’s ridiculously proud of his blond curls so he spends some extra time in the bathroom when they’re going out, but he’s allowed a little vanity when he knows that he’s talked himself into the secure vault of the Bank of America once by pretending to be a French artist who had money in deposit box there.

Okay, so his hair is pretty. That doesn’t explain the singing.

“What were you trying to do anyway?” he asks, and the guy blushes again.

“What I was – Jesus.” He runs a hand through his hair absentmindedly and tugs loose a few more strands that fall to frame his face and sync perfectly with his pale, now flushed skin. He looks absolutely gorgeous, and Enjolras is angry.

“Ever heard of flirting?” the guy suggests, then raises his hands quickly. “It’s okay, I understand, I didn’t mean to be pushy. You enjoy your stay here and I’ll go back to teaching billionaires how to play poker.”

He walks back and hits a table. “Goodnight.”

“It’s fine,” Enjolras hears himself saying, and then frowns at himself because he’s sure he meant to say _goodnight_ as well. His heart skips a beat at the way the guy’s eyes light up, though.

“Was that an attempt to flirt back?” the guy asks and smiles, and Enjolras can only shrug because he isn’t sure himself, and some part of him is still very much aware that he should find Courfeyrac, but then the guy is standing in front of him again and extending his hand.

“Grantaire,” he says, “What’s your name?”

“Enjolras,” he replies and shakes the other’s hand. They both linger touching a little too long for two strangers who only just met and exchanged poor attempts at flirting, but Enjolras is not complaining. Grantaire’s hand is warm, and his grip is firm and confident.

He does _not_ miss the warmth when he lets go. Nor does he clear his throat because he suddenly feels like his vocal chords have pitched his voice a few octaves higher – damn hormones, Enjolras thinks, he’d thought those were a myth.

“Well then, Enjolras, may I ask what you’re doing here?” Grantaire is still smiling, and as soon as Enjolras notices he can’t look away because it’s beautiful. He isn’t sure if the other is aware of that fact, though, and he feels like he has to physically restrain himself from telling him.

“Well, it’s a casino,” Enjolras says, and the pause is a little too long and Grantaire doesn’t look like that was the answer he was hoping to get, so he adds, “I’m here with a friend tonight who wanted me to get out, and he also wants me to learn how to play poker so he can relieve me off my tablet computer as soon as I know how to play.”

Grantaire chuckles. “He sounds like a charming man, your friend. Where is he?”

“You’re asking the wrong man,” Enjolras sighs and looks around again, but there’s still no sign of Courfeyrac and by now Enjolras is sure that he’s made some friends elsewhere, possibly rich and/or influential friends, at least at manager level that he can pick for useful information and the extra cash that they keep at the bottom of their pockets. That’s why they have Courfeyrac, because there’s never been a pocket he couldn’t pick, and because he _learns_ things.

“I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from finding him,” Grantaire says and Enjolras realizes he must have been lost in thought – Combeferre always tells him that he gets that look when he thinks, a crease on his forehead that looks constantly disapproving of the world around him. He shakes his head.

“To be honest, I’ve given up on finding him. He will find me when the time comes.”

He looks back at Grantaire and smiles, and though it’s not his most radiant smile – he smiles most radiant when he’s in front of three metres of cold steel laced with wiring where one false movement can bring all hell down on them, he’s been told – it’s an honest smile, and one that seems to work with Grantaire.

“Care to learn a little poker while he’s gone?”

This time Enjolras can tell Grantaire is flirting, complete with wriggling eyebrows and moving closer to Enjolras, and even worse, Enjolras doesn’t mind. He _enjoys_ it.

Enjolras doesn’t normally enjoy flirting, he enjoys cutting steel bolts, enjoys walking out of a building with too many heavy black bags and sunglasses and tricking security against all odds because they’re just that _good_ but he doesn’t enjoy flirting.

There’s no point to flirting. There’s no thrill to flirting. Except there suddenly is.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because you’re wearing a suit that costs more than I make in three months, you’re in a casino and have a teacher at your hands, so why not make use of the situation?”

There’s a practiced nonchalance to the way Grantaire smirks, and it should probably be illegal, because people can’t allow to be cute and confident, that’s not a combination that should exist, except it does and Enjolras is done for.

“I’m afraid my friend left with all the chips we bought,” Enjolras states with a sigh that is just a little overdramatic; and Grantaire’s smirk goes from nonchalant to delighted in a matter of seconds.

“Oh, don’t worry, you can pay me back later,” he says and tugs at Enjolras’ sleeve, their hands barely brushing up against each other yet sending sparks down Enjolras’ arm. He really has to work on his self-control if he wants to play poker.

“Is this a trick to get to my money?” he asks innocently as Grantaire leads him through the crowd into towards a room at the back and just laughs at Enjolras’ question. Enjolras spots a security guy – he can always tell them apart, from the way they move, and because he and Bahorel once spent two weeks practicing that inconspicuous prowl in order to get to a deposit box at the end of a long line of security guards and allegedly insuperable security barriers – and then he has a thought.

The thought disappears, however, when Grantaire’s hand brushes up against his arm as they stop, because that contact isn’t _casual_ , couldn’t be interpreted as _accidental_. Shit, this is testing the waters.

Enjolras takes a deep breath and tries to focus, and of course Grantaire notices, he was _waiting_ for that reaction, and this is so far beyond what Enjolras normally does that he finds he doesn’t give a fuck.

Also, the thought is back.

“Wouldn’t you need more people to play poker.”

It’s not a question, the lack of a question mark is hanging heavily in the air, but Enjolras still maintains the right to emit a certain lack of commitment by formulating a question instead of signalling that he understood the underlying implications of Grantaire’s statement. It’s all he has left now to hold as a higher ground. He will use it.

“You would, if you wanted to do it properly,” Grantaire replies slowly, carefully shaping syllables with a mouth that is just a little too distracting, “Or you could just have a little fun instead of making this learning business all grim and serious.”

The implications are definitely there. What’s new is the fact that Enjolras feels the urge to act upon them.

He leans forward. “So what does your _fun_ version of poker include?”

Grantaire’s breath hitches, and Enjolras is suddenly nervous as he realises how far beyond what he normally does this is. It’s not his style, not his favourite pastime, he hasn’t been in a committed relationship in over three years –

It hits him that this is probably the best thing. No commitment, no strings attached. Just flirting, and then something else, and then a friendly parting of ways. They all go home _happy_.

“We’ll see,” Grantaire replies and opens the door. The room behind is barely lit, and Grantaire fumbles to find the light switch while Enjolras stands just a little bit too close to him and then the light over the poker table flicks on and bathes the room in a light that brings out the contrasts of everything – long shadows were the artificial light doesn’t reach Enjolras’ light hair contrasting Grantaire’s dark hair, Enjolras’ normal behaviour melting away against the warm body in front of him.

He feels strangely comfortable.

“Just in case you missed all the heavy innuendo...” Grantaire is breathing heavily already, but he refuses to stand closer to Enjolras before he has said what he has to say. “You’re criminally gorgeous, and I would very much like to fuck you.”

Enjolras has to stifle a laugh at the _criminal_ part, and a moan when Grantaire mentions the fucking.

“I’m onboard with that,” he replies and then suddenly, _finally_ , he is kissing Grantaire.

Not that he’s anticipated that for long, it’s just one second he’s lost in a casino and then he’s agreeing on sex with a total stranger but _goddamnit_ it’s a stranger who knows how to kiss. Enjolras probably wouldn’t swear on his life that he knows how to tell apart a good kiss from a bad kiss – Courfeyrac still assumes that the only person Enjolras has ever kissed is Combeferre – but he knows that _this_ is good, because he’s shivering where Grantaire’s warm hands or lips or body aren’t touching him, and the rest of his body is a tingling mess that feels like someone set his nerve endings on fire.

He tangles his hands with Grantaire’s and draws him closer, wrapping his hands around the other’s waist to hold him there when he’s close. He can feel Grantaire gasping against his lips, and the part of him that enjoys the hiss of a plasma cutter against steel feels very proud at this achievement.

He’s grinning against Grantaire’s lips, and then groaning when Grantaire very lightly bites his bottom lip and draws back. “Stop being smug, it’s unbecoming.”

Enjolras _physically_ cannot stop smiling, but Grantaire kisses him again and buries a hand in his hair, twisting it just _so_ that Enjolras gasps again and then there’s tongue carefully teasing his mouth and _damn_ Enjolras doesn’t want careful so he surges forward and presses Grantaire against the poker table behind him.

Grantaire gasps out a quiet _oh_ against Enjolras lips, and Enjolras swallows the sounds, wants to swallow Grantaire whole because the way Grantaire tastes under him should be illegal. Then Grantaire tugs at his hair again and Enjolras just _melts_ against him, every ounce of control dissolving into a puddle over overly sensitive nerves.

Grantaire laughs quietly, drawing back from the kiss breathlessly. “I think I’m in love with your hair.”

Enjolras shuts him up with another kiss because he doesn’t know how to respond to that – he’s frustratingly unskilled in casual conversation, and apparently even more so when he knows there’s going to be sex. Instead, he reaches behind and tugs loose the band that holds Grantaire’s hair together. This turns out to be a good decision, because Grantaire, as far as Enjolras can tell from where he is pressed up against Grantaire’s wonderfully soft, _talented_ lips, looks absolutely stunning with the wild mess of curls framing his face.

Their kiss turns open-mouthed and messy, and Enjolras can’t even deny anymore how much he wants _this_ , how much he wants Grantaire. Luckily, Grantaire seems to feel quite the same way, because he suddenly flips them around so that Enjolras is trapped between the poker table and Grantaire and breaks the kiss long enough to pant, “Okay, give me a minute to lock the door.”

Enjolras nods, because yes, this is a good idea, and frowns when Grantaire stays frozen in place with a grin on his face that just keeps getting wider. “What?”

“You have to let go.”

Enjolras looks down and realises that he still has his arms around Grantaire’s waist in a very firm grip. He carefully lets go, grinning sheepishly. “It’s not my fault you’re ridiculously attractive.”

Grantaire laughs as he heads over to a bag lying next to a couch and fumbles out a key he uses to lock the door they came through. He’s constantly running a hand through his hair, and maybe he’s getting nervous, because Enjolras definitely _is_.

“I don’t normally do this,” he explains gingerly, “I’m not the type for relationships.”

“Don’t worry, me neither,” Grantaire quickly adds, almost as if he’s been anticipating the words, “God knows I’m not good at those.”

There’s something bitter in his smile for a second, Enjolras thinks, and he’s starting to get worried when Grantaire flops down on the couch with a dirty grin and starts undoing the buttons of his waistcoat.

Enjolras can’t let him get away with that.

He crosses the distance between them with a firm stride and swats Grantaire’s hand away from the buttons, straddling him so he has better access to the buttons and _definitely_ not so he can grind down against Grantaire and moan and the friction it brings.

Definitely not.

Grantaire’s eyes flutter closed when Enjolras grinds down against him and he sighs quietly. At Enjolras’ insistent tug he sits up so Enjolras can remove the waistcoat and the shirt he’s been wearing underneath. He shivers against the cold air on bare skin, and Enjolras is quick to push him back down and cover his body with his own, kissing along Grantaire’s jaw and then moving back to his mouth again, letting himself get lost in the sensation of warm lips and a hint of teeth now and then.

Grantaire is taking off Enjolras’ jacket and the waistcoat he’s wearing underneath. He begins to unbutton the white dress shirt Enjolras is wearing, but gets distracted with running his hands over every inch of skin he bares, and Enjolras shivers against him.

Finally, the shirt is off and Enjolras can focus on kissing again, though by now his trousers are getting dangerously uncomfortable, especially because Grantaire is writhing beneath him and every movement he makes means _friction_ that just gets Enjolras more and more frustrated. He grinds down more insistently.

“Trousers,” he manages to pant, “Those trousers need to come off.”

Grantaire nods frantically and sits up enough to get a hand to Enjolras’ zipper, popping open the button and pulling it open so he can tug the trousers down to Enjolras’ knees. Enjolras manages to get rid of them with a bit of wiggling and shifting. His boxers remain, but right now his priority is to make sure that Grantaire loses his trousers equally fast.

Grantaire groans when Enjolras palms his erection through the fabric before pulling off his trousers. His head thrown back, he exposes a beautifully pale neck that Enjolras just has to kiss and bite into. The sounds Grantaire makes go straight to his cock.

Grantaire runs his hands up and down Enjolras back, and Enjolras is shivering again because every touch from Grantaire sets his nerve endings on fire. He’s panting and shivering and he still wants _more_ of Grantaire, wants... _oh_.

He stills and Grantaire frowns at him, but Enjolras’ expression is pleading and slightly desperate, and he takes Grantaire’s face between his hands and looks down at him intently. “Please tell me you actually have stuff for this,” he mutters frantically, and then Grantaire surges up to kiss him while trying to grab his bag at the same time, but he doesn’t succeed until Enjolras stops sucking at his bottom lip.

It’s a stunningly resourceful bag, but Enjolras isn’t about to question why Grantaire carries lube and condoms around, not when it fits with his plans so wonderfully.

“Do you want to...” Grantaire asks, gesturing vaguely with his hands, and Enjolras, who understands him perfectly well, just stares at him for a moment because he isn’t sure how to properly phrase his answer, but understanding dawns on Grantaire’s face and he flips them around so that Enjolras is lying on his back and Grantaire is looking down at him with awe on his face. He runs a hand over Enjolras’ torso almost reverently, keeping himself upright with the other, and then moving to tug down Enjolras’ boxers.

Enjolras is a shivering, panting, not-yet-begging mess.

Grantaire smiles at him again, and Enjolras wants to say something, but his words get lost when Grantaire leans down to place a kiss to the underside of his cock and _fuck_ he shouldn’t be so sensitive but he’s whining and bucking up involuntarily and Grantaire grips his hip with one hand and then swallows him down and it’s a good thing that Enjolras can’t move now. He settles for a long, drawn-out moan and can feel Grantaire grinning smugly around his cock. He reaches down to card a shaking hand through Grantaire’s hair, and Grantaire hums and Enjolras wants to buck up again but can’t, and then he loses the ability of coherent thought, too, when Grantaire does something with his tongue that shoots a bolt of pleasure through his entire body.

“Fucking hell...” he mutters frantically, and Grantaire is still grinning smugly when he pulls off and flips open the bottle of lube to coat his fingers. When he looks at Enjolras’ again, his expression is dead serious.

“You okay?”

Enjolras nods enthusiastically, because the only way he could be more okay is with Grantaire finally inside him, but since he doesn’t actually have words anymore to phrase this, he settles for pulling Grantaire down to kiss him again, with all his enthusiasm and longing. Going by the sharp groan from Grantaire, he’s getting the message.

Grantaire pulls away from the kiss reluctantly, and then kisses his way down Enjolras’ torso. Enjolras can feel the finger pressed up against his entrance, and Grantaire’s other hand is rubbing soothing circles into his hipbone. Enjolras focuses on breathing calmly.

Grantaire presses inside carefully, and Enjolras has to remind himself to relax, because this might not be the first time he’s done this, but it’s the first time in a very long while and the sensation is unfamiliar, although not unwelcome.

Grantaire is slow with him, taking every shift, every breath of Enjolras into account, watching him carefully as he pushes his finger in and out. Before long, Enjolras is nodding and whispering and maybe begging for a second finger, and Grantaire happily obliges, being just as careful now as he was before.

Enjolras can’t stop watching Grantaire. It’s quickly becoming a problem.

“You’re gorgeous,” he tells him, and then inhales sharply when Grantaire brushes past that spot that almost makes him see stars, and when he can see again properly Grantaire is grinning gleefully and leaning down to whisper a thank you against where he is pressing kisses against Enjolras’ stomach and hipbones.

When Enjolras lifts his hips to accommodate Grantaire’s fingers and give him a better angle, Grantaire adds a third finger just as slowly, and Enjolras exhales shakily, because by now he feels more than ready for Grantaire, and so he tells him. Grantaire presses another kiss against Enjolras’ stomach.

“Patience,” he mutters, but he fumbles for the condom he dropped on top of the bag. He also produces a towel from said bag – Enjolras has a suspicion that it might be a sports bag, though why he thinks of that _now_ he has no idea. He discards the idea when Grantaire pulls out his fingers, making Enjolras feel strangely empty and at the same time thrumming with anticipation as he watches Grantaire roll the condom onto his cock and coat it in lube with a few quick strokes of his hand that leave his eyes falling closed and his head tipping back in pleasure.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to regard Enjolras questioningly. “You’re still okay with this?”

“Yes,” Enjolras agrees impatiently, and luckily he doesn’t have to resort back to more drastic measures because Grantaire is already nudging his legs apart further and pushing them up and then _thank God_ he’s lining himself up and pushing inside slowly, and it still hurts but in a good way. Enjolras tips his head back and groans when Grantaire is fully inside him, and when Grantaire doesn’t move immediately Enjolras pulls his head down and kisses him, even though the angle is slightly uncomfortable.

Enjolras moans when Grantaire starts moving, moans at the sensation of being filled, being taken care of, being wanted, especially when Grantaire manages to find _that_ spot again and Enjolras suddenly can’t seem to shut up about how _good_ Grantaire feels.

“You’re perfect really, fuck, can you... I swear to God if you don’t move faster I’m going to have to murder someone... fuck...”

And Grantaire laughs and kisses him again and obliges and Enjolras loses himself. He lifts his hips to meet Grantaire, and feels the breath being knocked out of his lungs when Grantaire manages to push in further, fill him up more and all he can think is _more more_ _more_ until he has to close his eyes because the sensations is too much.

“Grantaire,” he pants breathlessly, “Grantaire, I...”

And Grantaire knows, Enjolras doesn’t know how but Grantaire knows, and he reaches for Enjolras’ cock and strokes him in time with his thrusts even though his hand is shaking as well and he is coming apart as much as Enjolras.

“Fuck, I want to keep you,” Grantaire mumbles under his breath, “I want to take you apart a thousand times and put you back together, you are so beautiful.”

Enjolras keens when Grantaire swipes a finger over the tip of his cock and cants his hips upwards at the sensation, and then Grantaire hits that spot once more and Enjolras is coming with a shout and Grantaire leans down to kiss him and comes to when he can feel Enjolras’ muscles clench around him.

They stay still for a second, eyes locked, out of breath, unwilling to let go, before Grantaire pulls out and gets rid of the condom – just throwing it aside probably isn’t a good idea since they’re still in the casino, but Enjolras hasn’t ever cared less about anything.

Grantaire grabs the towel and carefully wipes Enjolras’ torso clean.

“Do you want to go out with me?” Enjolras pants.

Grantaire looks down at him with wide open eyes, mouth open because he’s still out of breath as well, and Enjolras wants to kiss him again, but he patiently waits for the answer. Grantaire, infuriatingly, is smiling.

“You’re the worst casual fuck ever.”

And now Enjolras does kiss him, a light peck to the corner of his mouth and it’s incredibly chaste considering what they’ve just done. It feels good, and Enjolras’ lips tingle when he’s not kissing Grantaire anymore. “It’s a good thing I don’t want to be a good casual fuck. I want to be a good permanent fuck.”

There is a part of him that knows this is a bad idea, because sometimes he spends six months out of the country or in a hole somewhere planning his next coup and it is very likely that one day he’s going to end up in prison forever, but for now, he wants nothing more than to give this a try. He wants Grantaire, smirking and teasing, waking up in his apartment after a night together, wants to make him bacon and eggs – Enjolras can’t cook to save his life, but it doesn’t matter – and curl up with him on the couch when thinking of a new way to trick bank security systems is giving him a headache again.

He wants to tell Grantaire, but he’s not sure how creepy this would sound, so he settles for taking Grantaire’s hand and holding it gently. His hand is warm, warm and comforting.

Grantaire looks at him, his trademark smirk slowly melting away to make room for a gentler, more honest smile. “This is a terrible idea, isn’t it?”

“Why are you asking?” Enjolras replies with a frown, because there is something behind Grantaire’s question that he can’t quite get to.

“Because I can’t bring myself to care.”

Grantaire laughs quietly, and Enjolras joins him, and the couch is too small and there’s a tingling sensation in Enjolras’ arm that most likely indicates his arm has fallen asleep, but he can’t bring himself to care either.

He’s just glad Courfeyrac dragged him into this damn casino. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it was okay? Thank you for reading.


End file.
